Lance: Zero Gravity

ii. it's time to leave the capsule if you dare

Lance figures he'll need to move sooner or later.

As badly as he wants to move later, much, much later, he's spent more than enough time lying down. He steels himself, inhaling sharply through his nose, and tries again to push himself up. Despite his resolve to move, every fiber of his being screams at him against the pressure he's putting on his arms. He drops back to the ground, complaining with a small groan that fizzles out into a bit of a whine.

Okay, never mind about getting up. Just a little more time.

Just like his cadet days of getting up at balls o'clock in the morning, he decides to try opening his eyes after a failed attempt at moving. He regrets the decision once he discovers that the bright sunlight promptly leads to the shriveling of his eyeballs in his sockets, and it just pushes out another cry from his body. Thinking about the situation he's in, all he can do is give out short pathetic whines.

Actually, thinking about the situation helps to recollect himself. Currently, he is… somewhere. He'll find that out the second he manages enough energy to get out of the pod. He traces his thoughts remembers… the explosion, the alien that helped him escape… and then…

"Shiro!" He bolts up as the epiphany hits, raising himself in one quick, adrenaline-filled go. His body still cries out in pain, but now that he's up, it isn't as bad. His head throbs, though, and he shuts his eyes tightly to wait for it to stop.

When he gets to a point where he's not about to throw up, he looks around. The first thing he takes note of is that he isn't completely disoriented; he really was at the back of the pod, and it appears to Lance like the pod itself didn't have a very safe landing. The opening hatch faces the sky, letting more than enough sunlight in. Supplies that were meant for emergency cases are littered on the floor (the wall, maybe, at this point?) next to Lance. His eyes trail over a med kit, scattered nutrient supplements, his bayard, thank god, and a few other objects written in who knows what.

That was the physical scenario. The actual scenario was much worse. There was no communicator or operable radio on the pod—not one that he could use, read, or see, at least—and he didn't have his helmet or Lion. He couldn't do it in the pod, but he needed to get back to Voltron.

Do you? The voice that needed to shut up earlier returns, although Lance was hoping he'd concussed himself enough in the fall to have it disappear. Do they really need you? They said Shiro would be fine, so they didn't need you then, and now they have Shiro, Keith, Allura, Pidge, Hunk… that's five.

Lance chooses to ignore the voice this time, unable to refute or agree with it. It didn't matter right now. His first goal was to get out of the ship and figure out where he was.

He takes a deep breath, and then pushes himself up. He squints at the window. Next to the blinding light is a handle, and the outline of the door is traced against the whites of the pod walls. Lance looks down at the horizontally-positioned chair. It looks fairly comfy, and if Lance had had enough time to sit on it before he was ejected into space at a gajillion miles per hour, he probably wouldn't have been in such bad shape. He put his foot on its side and uses it to raise himself to the ceiling and opening. One hand lunges upwards and grabs the handle with his good arm (or, at least, the arm that wasn't shot by a guard. Then again, with the amount of pain he's in, it's hard to tell either way) and he positions himself for a couple seconds, bracing himself for the pain that would come with exerting himself to open it.

Please don't be a poison gas planet, please don't be a poison gas planet, please don't be a poison gas planet, Lance repeats in his head in a futile mantra of reassurance. If he had any luck, if god graced him with any luck at all during birth, he begs for it to be this.

Sure enough, he opens the hatch up and takes a long, deep breath. It's now or never. If his lungs would explode or bleed or kill him, just get it over with already—

But it didn't. In fact, it's… fresh.

When he examines his surroundings, it is just as nice as the air. It looks almost like a beach on Earth, except the sand is a lavender and the trees, despite looking as alive as a summer's day, look like coral-colored palm trees with some sort of low-hanging, indigo fruit. The sky is undoubtedly the best sight. It is a clear day, Lance presumes, but the sky has a beautiful gradient from yellow at the horizon breaking off into Earth's sky blue. In place of clouds, Lance can see the outlines of neighboring planets, reflecting something that resembles the rings of Saturn in the distance, and a small mercurial planet a little further into the sky. The sight reflects off the orange-tinted water, and it was... frankly, breathtaking.

And if this planet proves not to kill him for as long as it takes him to get off it, he'll even call it nice.

Looking at the pod's condition is much less appealing in comparison, with black streaks covering the formerly white surface, with dark dents embedded in it and the centers showing the metallic color after the paint was rubbed off. The coordinate pad—or any electricity, really—had been completely decimated by whatever happened during Lance's flight.

With some effort, he pulls himself out of the pod and lands in the sand. The sand does not contain poisonous scorpions that bite his legs off upon impact, nor does he cause a tremor that awakens an alien dinosaur. He walks over to the water and touches it with his pinkie toe. His face is already in a grimace, prepared for it to burn his foot off, but it doesn't. The only downside is that it's rather cold, but even then, it's more of a comfortable cold rather than a freezing cold. With a bit more hope, Lance bends over the surface and splashes some on his face. As painful as it is, it's a necessary evil, as it jolts him awake. He risks a small sip, half to check if it's poisonous, but he does not choke. The water tastes a little tangy, like oranges, but other than that, no reaction. He begins to glean that the planet is safe, but keeps looking for the catch; the ever-prevalent catch that follows him wherever he goes.

It doesn't come.

The water is drinkable even without boiling it, the fruit is edible, the trees are climbable, the air is breathable, the light is bearable, and there are no animals in sight. For once in his life, Lance felt hashtag blessed.

He spends the rest of the first day lying in on the beach, getting as much of a suntan as he can. Just because he's stuck here doesn't mean he can't enjoy it, after all.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh air and looks to the sky for signs of rescue before closing his eyes. He had been through a lot, hadn't he? Just a rest wouldn't hurt. It wasn't even supposed to be a rest, really, he just closed his eyes, made a soft pillow with his arms, and started breathing slowly.

So really, it wasn't his fault the planet was so comfortable.

It takes two weeks before Lance loses it.

He sits on a deep purple rock next to the water, poking at the orange liquid with a pink tree branch. In his eyes reflect the weariness of a grizzled survivalist as he takes a swig of water out of a bowl-like object he'd made from his pod's debris.

Survival wasn't hard. Conditions were mostly like Earth, so all he had to do was channel his old space cadet days and remember the essentials: he'd built himself a shelter, he could make fires daily, he had drinkable water and edible food, and his bayard and other objects from the ship were more than useful and enough to help him survive. With that, there were no giant monsters. And while that was true, there weren't even small alien monsters with some deadly gimmick out to kill Lance. In fact, there were no aliens at all. No pretty mermaids in the water, or heavenly angels in the sky. He'd settle for a harpy, at this point, if he needed to compromise. But there wasn't anything at all. No way to ask for help, no way to contact anyone. And it wasn't like Lance was a stranger to feeling alone, but here, he really…

"Day fourteen," Lance announces to himself, like a T.V. sitcom he'd once seen. "Still no sign of any ladies. Or people. Or anything other than these stupid rocks—" Against reason, he kicks a rock, but instead of tumbling gently into the water, it turns out to be deeply rooted in the ground with only its surface layer visible, and he howls in pain and collapses into the sand.

Instead of continuing to focus on the throbbing pain in his foot, his arm blocks out a few of the sun's rays as he stares up at the sky above him, empty and clear, as it always is. He looks for a sign of hope, to no avail, and grits his teeth tightly. His arm covers his eyes and blocks the tears that threaten to well up. He takes a halted, quick and shaky breath out, and then another to calm his breathing again.

"Where are you guys…?" Lance asks, to nothing, "I miss you."

Lance isn't sure how long he lies there. Maybe it's a few dobashes, maybe it's a varga, maybe it's a few minutes, maybe it's a few hours. It isn't a losing scenario, anyways, since there's nothing to do one way or another. The only problem is that his cries almost muffle up the whirring of a motor, and it almost passes him by until his eyes snap open and he sits up, stopping to make sure it isn't just the tree branches playing tricks on him. When he realizes that the sound is accompanied by a beeping, he immediately takes off running towards it, bayard in tow.

So what if it might kill him? So what if the ship doesn't look like Voltron's at all? So what if it's not even an ally ship? It's not a Galra ship, and that's what he really cares about. It looks more like a pirate ship and he'd frankly take space pirates over staying on this planet for even a second longer.

Lance is surprised when he sees the ship dock right above his pod, and he sees their tractor beam zone in on it. Lance chases after the ship, waving his hands frantically, yelling and screaming over and over, "Hey! Hey! I'm over here! Help!"

He learns quickly that his pleas fall on deaf ears, and his expression changes to something between anger, desperation, and determination. As fast as his legs take him, he dives not-so-gracefully headfirst into the tractor beam. His momentum comes to a gradual slow and stops near the center, and he's pulled in behind his pod, staring up at the infrared light he's being drawn into.

Although the ascension into the ship is slow and graceful, his arrival is not. Not even at the end of the tractor beam, Lance is suddenly yanked by a rough, lizard-like hand, and he meets two slit eyes and a face befitting the hand. The creature's breath stinks, and Lance can see the saliva dribble off their fangs as they pull Lance close. Instead of addressing Lance, it simply stares him down with an intimidating glare before it looks out into the inside of the ship. Only the portion Lance is standing on has a spotlight under it, and the rest of the ship is shrouded in darkness.

"We picked up a straggler! What do we do with the fresh meat? Throw him out? Eat him?" It shouts.

The person the lizard-man shouts to isn't what Lance expects. Lance hears the click of heels, accompanied by two different pairs of footsteps. When they emerge from the shadow, he sees a Galra and a Nomarian on either side of a beautiful alien girl, who struts—literally struts—into the light. Her skin is a light blue, and her hair rests under a large pirate Captain's hat, two long plumes sticking out and floating elegantly to the side. If Lance hadn't been so terrified, he would've immediately rushed to her and taken her hand, giving her elegant pickup lines.

Instead, he vouches to stay silent as she rolls her eyes and glares at the lizard. "Think for yourself, would'jya?"

When she catches sight of Lance, he catches the surprise that flits on her face for but a mere moment. He grins, wondering what it was—maybe his well-toned muscles, maybe the way he carried himself with swagger—maybe she just knew who he was, the Blue Paladin of Voltron. Then again, that might not have been a good thing with a Galra right next to her. Quickly, her face reverts to the usual confident and haughty demeanor from earlier, and Lance grins. Playing hard-to-get, was she?

Despite his thoughts, she grins up at him while the Lizard puts him down. She walks up to him, and without warning, her hand lashes out and grabs Lance's chin, turning it from side to side as though he's a specimen of some sort. She mutters an analytical, "Human, huh…" while observing him.

Even despite the dangers, Lance can't help but utter a, "I see you've already got an eye for me."

"Can it, Captain Underpants." She replies. In return, Lance's face heats up as he realizes he's probably not the most attractive person in the room. He hadn't showered for two weeks now, he had ditched his Voltron suit in favor of staying cool and is indeed in only his underwear in front of the dazzling, well-dressed woman in front of him.

Although he can think up a few more flirty comebacks, Lance stays silent for the rest of her examination. She pulls back, putting a hand on her hip. She's grinning at him, this time, and Lance can't help but think about how she wears her confidence and looks hot. "Before we throw you off, I've gotta know: what's a Milky Way kid like you doing all the way out here?"

"I'm not from the milky way," Lance corrects, still using his suave attitude, "I'm from Earth."

Immediately, the girl looks ten times less impressed. "Earth is in the Milky Way, gago."

Before he can explain how his planet is not related to a chocolate bar in any way, one of the voices in the crowd cut through. "You call your planet Earth? You might as well call it a sack of dirt!"

The crowd of pirates burst out in laughter, with one pitching in, "Isn't Earth made outta water, anyways? What kinda erkflad made up the name of that?!"

They have their fair share of laughing at Lance, with the girl in front of him not taking her eyes off him for a second. Lance isn't sure whether to find it terrifying or hot, because she's smirking, has an eyebrow raised and her arms folded. After a couple more seconds, she shouts, "Zip it!" and although she's not heard at first, she repeats herself, louder, and the ship goes silent.

She looks up at Lance, face spelling out challenge in every way possible. "So, earthling," she says, carefully, "tell me why I shouldn't give you a little love tap on your chest right now and send you flying a few kilometers back down to that island."

Lance's mind immediately switches from flirt to fight. He notices the planet lying behind and below him—the same planet he'd been stuck on for two weeks, and knows he won't survive the fall. He can tell the girl's not bluffing, because everyone looks just as eager to see him prove himself as they do to see him fail.

"I, uh… well, um, I…" He stammers for a second, noticing the Galra staring at him just as intently, and he bites his lip. Nobody on the ship recognizes him, and he can't tell if they were pro-Galra or against them, so he couldn't just announce he was the Paladin of Voltron. There was something that he could improvise, though, and he pulled out his bayard. "I'm… I'm, I mean, I'm a warrior. I'm a fighter. You pirates could always use someone like that, right?"

The girl gave an interested eyebrow raise, if nothing else. "And how are you, a scrawny little kid, a fighter?"

His eyes dart from side to side, observing different memories. Sure, he can think of shooting a few galra ships here and there, but what had he actually done?

Are you even a hero? The voice says.

Not now, Lance thinks firmly back at it, if that's possible, but it does the trick.

Still, the girl looks at him expectantly for an answer. He can't think up any of his own stories, though, because all that come to his mind are… the others.

"I was… I was an ace pilot back at flight school," Lance explains, and everyone immediately quiets. "Probably the best. I could outfly anyone. Everyone got mad at me and called me a show off because I was just so good. Then I was abducted by… uh… by Galra warriors. Forced to fight in a Gladiator Ring."

The girl frowns at the mention of abduction. "You got anything against Galra?"

"What?! No! No, of course not! It was just... just a phase of my life, no biggie!" Lance exclaims, trying not to look at the Galra beside the girl. "After all, I won the whole thing, and so people started calling me 'Champion'. The Galra saw I was the strongest warrior, cut my arm off, and…" Lance trails off, realizing that his arm is still very human and intact. He interrupts himself, quickly, to put the story on the right track, "and it grew back real quick! Like, it was just a quick chop. Failed experiment. My arm's fine, as you can see."

All the aliens aboard the ship are silent, and in awe. "I didn't think humans had such regenerative capabilities," the Nomarian next to the girl claims, eyes wide. "And to be here… means you must have escaped the Galra Empire at its strongest time…?"

"Yup! Yup, totally me." Lance replies, responding as confidently as he can.

The aliens all look at him very differently now, and even the girl gives a look of surprise, if not a skeptic one. "What's your name?" She asks.

"The name's Lance," he answers, winking and giving the most refreshing smile he can muster in underwear and two-week stink, "but you might hear me called 'Sharp Shooter'." To add to the old razzle-dazzle, he poses with his bayard, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, and it turns into an assault rifle that surprises the crew. He regrets his bravado shortly after, as pain rips through his bad arm. Even her eyes widen, and she looks at Lance with an approving smirk.

"Well, Lance," she says, "Captain Xandra. You can address me as Captain or Xandra, I don't care. Either way… I don't think our ship has a human, yet. Welcome aboard the D. con."

With that, Xandra turns tail and struts away, shouting commands smoothly, "Larinj, get the kid some clothes. And Qa'ata," she adds, turning to the strong Nomarian who had stood by her side, "show the runt around. You two should get along nice, yeah?"

The Nomarian, Qa'ata, gestures for Lance to follow him, gently and smiling. Lance had taken note of how composed he looked throughout the entire prove-himself ordeal, and sort of gleaned that this guy was probably the most level-headed in the ship. Lance followed him quickly, earning a few pats on the back from other crew members, looking at Lance with different forms of respect, understanding, and pride. It wasn't something he was used to.

As they walk, Qa'ata speaks with a bit of seriousness, but doesn't turn to look at Lance. "I respect you, Lance, but just so things are clear early on, my essence is already intertwined with Xandra." He claims. Lance blinks for a second, unsure of what he means. Qa'ata nods, and glances over. "I think you humans call it… dating. Xandra and I are in a romantic relationship."

Lance looks blankly back at him, before flaring up in embarrassment. "Oh, shoot! No—yeah—of course, sorry!" He exclaims. He wasn't the type of guy to hit on an… essence intertwined pair, much less Qa'ata, who looked about as strong as Shiro—or if nothing else, at least as buff as him. Unlike Shiro, he wore an eye patch above a scar on his right eye, and it was definitely helping his intimidating factor. "No, we're good. I'm not—I wasn't—well, I was, but I—I've already got… well, I already like someone else, so we're all good there."

"Oh, that's good," Qa'ata agrees, blue coat falling behind him as he walks forward, "I wouldn't want us to be on different pages."

"Yeah…" Lance replies for quick reaffirmation and looks away. His thoughts drift to Allura, and wonders where she is right now. Is she worried? Is she looking for him? Or… had she given up?

Maybe she didn't care in the first place. The voice that needs to shut up said, and Lance grows increasingly frustrated at his lack of comeback at it.

His mind wanders to the last thing that traveled over the communicator in his helmet. We cannot lose you, she had said, and he couldn't be sure, but she'd sounded panicked and worried.

But how far does her worry go? It counters.

I thought you were quieter than this, Lance complains at it.

Qa'ata stops the voice from speaking any further by stopping in front of a door. "These are your quarters. You'll be sharing it with a bunch of people. I'm in charge of the room itself, just so nothing… erm…" he gives a short sound, reminiscent of a cough, "weird happens during the night. I also make sure things don't get stolen and whatnot, but I can't make too many promises. I'd keep your gun close to your chest." He says, looking down at Lance's bayard. Then, he adds, smiling, "Let's get you some clothes, why don't we?"

Lance thinks about mentioning that he really should be getting back to his friends, and that he'd like their help, but he wasn't about to risk walking the plank yet. He goes along with it, with a short, "Sure." With Lance's approval, Qa'ata opens the door, and on a bed lies an outfit. Qa'ata gives a nod, closing the door, and Lance looks down at it.

From the outside, Qa'ata can hear a few frustrated groans and crashing noises, and sends a few odd glances at the door. In a matter of minutes, Lance slams it open, looking one hundred and ten percent done with the attire, not even allowing the door to close behind him, just staring out in the distance.

"It suits you," Qa'ata compliments. It isn't empty, either. On top of a blue shirt, Lance adorns an army green pirate vest, decorated with adjustable belts along the chest, arms, hips, and hem of the outfit. There are also a couple on his boots, and the gloves suit him, too. The shoulder and knee pads accent strong points, and his pants are tucked nicely into his boots. He wears his outfit much better than others, notably, but it doesn't exactly suit the expression on Lance's face.

Lance huffs, out of fatigue or frustration is unclear, and asks, "Just why do you guys put so many belts on?"

"It fits, doesn't it?" Qa'ata replies.

"It's impractical," Lance argues back, but straightens anyways. Any outfit feels better than his old shorts, at this point, so he doesn't complain too much. He makes a mental note to burn them while Qa'ata shows the rest of the ship to him.

For the most part, it's an organized sort of chaos. Nothing is obvious to Lance, with flights of asymmetrical stairs upon flights of asymmetrical stairs, unevenly spaced doors, and crooked ceilings and floorboards, but nobody in the ship ever acts lost. When Lance hears someone call to wash the deck, crew members immediately appear, grabbing stray ropes and pulling on them to fly upwards. They all seemed to have a goal in mind, and everyone seemed to know what to do.

The ship is larger than Lance thought, as well. There are pubs and parlors, at least three washrooms on every floor, a holding unit for fighter jets, and he hadn't even touched half the ship. Qa'ata leads Lance to one of the parlors after the tour and orders a drink for him and Lance, sitting to talk with him. At a round, crooked table nearby, a bunch of crew members play some weird variation of space poker that Lance hadn't seen before. Lance drinks while Qa'ata talks.

"So," Qa'ata asks, "what do you think?"

Lance jumps at the question, and shrugs, thumbing a drink. "Oh! Uh, it's… cool. It's really nice around here."

It takes a few seconds of Qa'ata's disbelieving stare, and Lance shies away from the eyebrows of disapproval. It feels like Qa'ata sees right through him, and Lance adds on, "I just miss my old friends."

Qa'ata nods, as he's done many times, to show his understanding. "Earlier, you said you had a girl. Do you miss her? What was she like?"

Oh boy, Lance says, glancing over at the racks of bottles lined up behind the counter, eyes tracing the various colours and shapes the liquids came in. He looks wistful, even, and takes another swig of his drink. "She was gorgeous. Strong, too. Had a bit of a temper sometimes, too, but she was always mature about everything. I've always been a bit of a loverboy, but…" He exhales through his nose, and his face forms a bit of a pout. "She looked so pretty when she was in love, but… it's bitter. I really thought she was something else… and she was, but… I guess she just needed something more than me."

"Doubt that," Qa'ata answered after a few seconds, but he didn't know the whole story. Qa'ata places his cup down. "What about your other friends?"

Lance smiled a little at the memory. "Pidge's this small human. Former classmate at the flight academy. She's super smart, like you wouldn't believe. Then there's Hunk, and he's been with me through thick and thin… for better or for worse on his part, I guess. I'm probably a bit of a handful, frankly..." He slams his drink down on the table, and some of the liquid spills out and onto the table. "But yanno who's a real handful? Keith Kogane, that son of a quiznack! He's this—this half-human, half-galra guy, and he's constantly leaving us for whatever the reason. He's a good leader, gosh darn it, but… he didn't want to lead, and now he does… sorta? I don't know. I don't even know how he's like right now, and I'm worried out of my mind over this guy, even though he's super strong and he's… he's like, everything I'm not, but... he's also just… insane!"

Qa'ata laughs in response. "Sounds like you care about this guy more than the other girl."

"It's cause he's annoying! He makes me so angry!" Lance retorts. In his best mocking voice, he adds, "I'm Keith Kogane. I'm so cool and edgy. Look at me, now I'm a Blade of Marmora guy going solo because who needs a team anyways, hoo hoo, Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, blah blah blah, I was worried about Shiro too—and I know he has more reason to worry, but there's no need to go and run yourself dry for the guy, be all self-destructive and… at least he figured out who he was, or whatever, but still!" Lance petulantly frowns, raising his lower lip and furrowing his eyebrows, darting his head away in anger.

As he looks away though, he feels a strong tap on his arm. He turns to look and makes eye contact with seven eyes, looking at him as sympathetically as a seven-eyed alien can. "Hey, Sharpshooter, listen up! You know what you do in situations like these?" They ask, raising a glass. "You drink it away!"

In Lance's head, he can almost imagine a musical number breaking out as every alien raises their class with a hearty, "Aye!" and down their drinks, but doesn't realize until halfway through that he's one of them. At some point, his mouth is just moving, and he's walking and chatting up prettier shipmates, then he's talking about Voltron and everyone (though he doesn't remember talking about Voltron itself), and people are making fun of him the same way they always do. Calling him melodramatic and princess, and a bunch of other things, but it lacks the usual bite. The night goes on, and when he looks back at the table in front of him, there are five empty cups—or maybe that's four? Whatever, he was awful at counting anyways.

"Leave the math to Pidge," Lance drawled in a sing-song tone, head on the table, cup in hand. A bunch of aliens were lying on the floor, sprawled across chairs and tables. "After all, it's not like I'm a genius hacker, or great engineer, or know anything about alchemy…"

"You're a real lightweight, kid," one of the aliens say, laughing and jabbing him teasingly. They rub Lance's head furiously, and he really wishes they'd stop, because he isn't really liking the way the room spins around him anymore. The alien continues, "at least know if you ever return to your friends, you'll be good at one thing: figuring out which gurgleshneckles mix with plegnorbs!" He announces, pouring an orange liquid into a purple liquid and downing it, burping up little rainbow bubbles.

"I'm not good at anything," Lance complains, "or… I am, but I'm not the best. If they want something done, they can always go to someone else. I… they don't need me, they'll be fine… they've got Shiro, and Keith, and Allura, and Pidge, and Hunk…"

Qa'ata pats him on the back, and Lance had admittedly forgotten he was still there up until that point. "You're a good guy, Lance. Let's get you back up to—"

"You don't need 'em!" A voice shouts, raising their fist but not their head from the table, "Forget those guys!"

Their chants are joined in by a bunch of others, raising their hands in unison. One hugs Lance, and another nearly topples him, and quite a few others join him too. It's a little suffocating, to be honest, but Lance doesn't feel unwelcome. He just feels a little… reminiscent. Like when he had gone home, to Earth, and his nephew and niece would…

"You don't need a bunch of losers who don't need'jya," one of the aliens say, "we've gotcha now! You're part of our family!"

Through Lance's hazy vision, whether it's from whatever was in those drinks or the tears that had been brimming in his eyes, he sees a familiar figure look over at him from the doorframe. He catches indigo lips in a small smirk, and closer to him, he sees Qa'ata looking over at the figure, shrugging. Before he can make out what it means, or decipher it, Lance closes his eyes.

"Yeah, family." Lance says, raising the glass to his lips once more, but he doesn't recall actually drinking it before gravity gives up on him and he can't exactly tell if he's standing, but he feels strong arms in front of him, holding him, and he closes his eyes to end the night.

As you can tell, this story is Lance-centric, but as a social person, I couldn't leave him isolated forever. It's a solo-series because it refers to Lance having an adventure without the members of Voltron, like how Keith was, and I thought pirates would be the coolest. Firstly, there's Lance's ties to the Blue Lion and water/ice, then there's the way of 'no plan, pirate do as pirate please' in fun improv, and the entertaining but savage sense of camaraderie aboard the ship.

That being said, I don't think Lance is very OOC-right now, he's away from his friends and even further from his family. He's used to there being some way to communicate with them, or a time where they miraculously find him, but there isn't. Isolation probably didn't do wonders for him, either. So now he's stuck on a dangerous ship, lightyears away from Voltron, while nobody came for him, and still trying to make do with what he's got. He's kind of trying to cope with his lost 'family' by creating this temporary replacement, even if he doesn't realize it. If you disagree, though, please comment or contact me at my tumblr (smallshadowybirds).

On another note, get ready for the widest assortment of alien cast since Star Wars; some that you've seen, some that you haven't. There'll be a lot of aliens popping up throughout the story, but only two that are actually significant (guess who).

#SSB